Hatchling
by Pingpong
Summary: Goytha meets Sicarius for the first time. Warning - may make you want to cuddle Sicarius.


_Hatchling_

An Emperor's Edge Fanfiction

By Cael ( /~Pingpong)

There was a comfort in routine, Goytha thought to herself as she mixed the flour and water that would become the bread served that night at dinner. Every morning before the sky was even pretending to be light, she was up and bustlilng around her kitchen, mixing bread starter, setting stew to simmer and making the great vats of porridge and oatmeal that would fill the empty bellies of the men and handful of women that called the Imperial Barracks home. It was the same every day and after more than a fifteen years she could do almost everything without putting any thought into her actions. That left her mind free to wander, plotting out knitting patterns or mulling over the few problems she had in life; how to finagle an extra kitchen boy out of the Head of Staff, or sneak more vegetables into the officer's dinners without them complaining.

It was a day like any other day, but it wasn't. She was uncharacteristically restless, and often reached into her apron pocket absently to touch the puzzle-coin there. Her grandfather had bought the thing off a traveling tinkerer before she was born, and The odd, eleven sided coin was a comfort to her bringing back memories of the elderly miner who had always smelled of coal and chewing tobacco.

She busied herself with the huge pots of oatmeal, stirring briskly so it didn't burn. More work to distract herself, she decided. That's what she needed.

The other kitchen workers drifted in as dawn broke over Stumps, and Goytha set them to filling serving dishes with the breakfast items. Already the clamor of the dining hall was filtering down to the kitchens and she shooed the serving lads out with their burdens, lest she have a hungry revolt on her hands. A small tray with glazed sweet buns, fruit and oatmeal was prepared exactly the way Hollowcrest demanded and Goytha sent Kern off to deliver it. The dark haired boy received a better response than any other from the sometimes cranky Commander, and Goytha thought it best to hedge her bets; she still felt the tension in the air.

With hungry bellies filled, there were a few hours to breathe before lunch preparation began and the kitchen was soon empty again, the only sound a stewpot bubbling gently on the gigantic iron stove. In the quiet, Goytha riffled through her yarn basket, trying to decide on her next project. The bundle of blankets she'd been working on was almost ready to be sent down to the orphanage and she would need something else to keep her hands busy at night. She considered a skein of lovely black wool and thought of the coming winter. Her face dissolved into a wide smile; perhaps she should knit caps for the officers.

Her plotting was broken by the lightest of footsteps behind her, rushing down the steps from the main hall. She twisted just in time to see a small figure dart into the warm shadows next to the hearth, dark clothing rendering them almost invisible. If she had not turned just then, Goytha would not have known anyone was there.

Quietly, she straightened and considered the gloomy space. A child hiding in the kitchens was not unheard of and in fact Kern had once told her, with that crooked grin of his, that it was known as one of the safest places in the entire Barracks if a boy was in trouble. Not many people would brave Goytha's displeasure to punish a lad, especially since she would mete out justice herself if the offense was bad enough.

There had been something in the child's posture... Not fear, but something like it. Her feet were moving before her brain caught up, and she slowly approached, rounding the large table where the staff sometimes ate meals. There crouched in the corner was a boy of about six years of age, a shock of blond hair so pale she wondered how he'd so easily hidden in the shadows.

He was tucked into himself defensively, dark eyes wary and defiant and aged. He had none of the baby roundness normal to children his age, the black clothes doing little to disguise the leanness of his frame. An ache started in her chest. Who was this boy? she wondered to herself.

Stopping a good distance from him, she crouched down mimicing him and cocked her head to the side, thinking over the best way to begin. "Well, hello, hatchling," she said gently, smiling reassuringly.

Silence like a wall was her only response. The shuffle of footsteps came from the top of the stairs - guards making their rounds - and he scooted tighter into the corner and hunched his shoulders as if to hide himself, staring at the stairs.

Was he an officer's boy dodging lessons? Ancestors help the man who made this boy so... She couldn't come up with a right word. Scared was something like it, but not quite it. Defensive, maybe, but that wasn't the right word either.

She studied him, noting the knife hanging on his belt. A frown creased her forehead; it was not a practice blade. "So young to be carrying a blade," she murmured to herself.

The boy's gaze snapped back to her, studying her so methodically she could hardly believe he was barely a toddler. There was intelligence in that stare and something more... Wisdom, she decided. Experience, maybe. _Aged_ fit best. An old soul stared at her out of a little boy's face. Like a soldier returning from battle before the callouses formed on his heart. Her heart squeezed painfully. She gave him another encouraging smile and stood, brushing dust from her dress and apron.

"Well, m'lad," she said warmly, "you're awfully thin for a little one. If you're hungry, I'm sure there's something leftover from breakfast. Why don't you sit at the table and I'll see what I can rustle up, hmm?" Food _always_ appealed to little boys, and she felt the need to do something. Feeding people always made her better.

She turned and pointedly avoided looking at him as she strode to the large iron stove. She had dealt with enough children, a great majority of them boys, to know that directly doting on him would be a mistake. He would have to make the decision himself to leave his hiding spot, or anything she did would be for naught. Humming a song, she took down a bowl and scraped the porridge pot down to get the very last bit. A few blueberries, deemed unacceptable to serve to Hollowcrest, went on top.

When Goytha turned back to the table the boy was sitting at the table, eyes following her every movement with a disconcerting intentness. She hadn't even heard him move. He had chosen the chair closest to the stairs, back facing the wall. The low fire shed little light that far away and if not for his pale hair, she would've lost sight of him again. Not for the first time, she wished there were windows in the gloomy room.

Snagging a spoon from a pile of recently cleaned cutlery as she passed, she put the bowl in front of the boy with a fond smile. "Here you are, hatchling," she said, amused. His eyes had stopped tracking her and were now following the bowl of food, his mouth practically watering.

Leaving him to dig in, she returned to her yarn basket. She had an idea for that black yarn.

By the time the spoon clattered into the empty bowl, Goytha had the first round of what would be a little cap divided onto four knitting needles. Now full, the nameless little boy seemed less wary, curiously watching her manipulate the needles to produce another round of stitches.

She smiled at him again - dear ancestors, did he look like he needed a smile or two - and said lightly, "Well, hatchling, I don't even know your name. Do you think you'll trade me that meal for it?"

He gave her another measuring look, as if weighing the downside of giving his name. Did he think she would shoo him out if she knew?

The knitting needles clicked together softly as she waited.

"Sicarius," finally came the reply.

"A big name for a little lad," she replied conversationally. "Personally, I like 'hatchling' better." She gave him a wink and almost burst out laughing at the shock that flitted across his face.

He dropped his eyes, studying his hands as they lay limp on the worn tabletop. He was a strange little boy, yes, but something about him went straight to her heart.

Once again, footsteps from the guards making their rounds echoed down the stairs, and Goytha blinked in surprise. Sicarius had bolted from the chair and back into the shadows without a sound, so fast she'd barely seen him move. Anxiety crumpled his face for a split second, and she guessed he was sorely missed from wherever he'd slipped away from.

What could she do? Her mind raced, and she set down her knitting, reaching into her pocket absently. As her fingers brushed the coin, she had an idea.

"Hatchling," she called gently, but the boy did not look at her. "Sicarius," she tried and his head snapped toward her with the alacrity of a soldier caught out during muster. The multiple comparisons to a soldier unsettled her.

"Come here, lad," she said, raising her eyebrows. Perhaps he heard a hint of order in her voice, for he reluctantly approached, circling along the wall and turning his body subtly to keep the stairs in sight.

"Who's missing you?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

Before the boy could answer, Goytha caught movement at the top of the stairs, and the sound of booted feet slowly descending the stone steps rang out. Sicarius heaved a sigh and rested his chin on his chest, obviously caught.

Commander of the Armies Hollowcrest apeared bit by bit as he placed each foot deliberately, eyes fixed on Sicarius even before Goytha could see his face. Not even glancing at her, Hollowcrest crossed the flagstones with the same slow tread, his face set in that particular expression she'd only seen when someone was about to catch hell.

Before the man could say anything, she blurted, "Is this lad yours, Hollow?" The commander's eyes snapped toward her, narrowed in displeasure, but she plowed on as she rose to her feet. "I'm terribly sorry, but I snagged him as he was passing by. I needed an extra pairs of hands and none of the other lads were about. You know how they can be, the scamps." She rolled her eyes and tried to smile benignly.

Hollowcrest glared at the boy. "Is this true, Sicarius?"

Without any hesitation and far more calmly than Goytha, Sicarius nodded.

A thunderous expression on his face, Hollowcrest looked at Goytha again. "Sicarius is the emperor's special project and is not to be treated like a common serving boy, Goytha. This had better not happen again."

His tone stung her pride and a retort came immediately to mind - like _she_ fixed every cup of tea he drank and could easily slip something unpleasant in if he wanted to be like that - but she took a deep breath and contented herself with keeping the boy out of trouble. So he'd been hiding from Hollow, had he? And the emperor's special project... She'd have to look into that more.

"I'm almost done with the lad, Hollow," she said in a brittle tone. "I'll send him along after."

"Sicarius, you will report to Master Balric when you are done, and then Major Pike afterward. For _no _reason are you to be late."

The color drained out of the boy's face, but he managed a sharp nod and a quiet, "Yes, sir."

When Hollowcrest was gone, Goytha closed her eyes and took another deep breath to center herself. She opened them and found Sicarius looking at her uncertainly.

"Yes, m'lad?" she asked. He looked so torn, and she couldn't imagine why.

"You lied," he began, brow wrinkling as if he searched for the right words. "For me..." He hesitated.

"Ah," she said, spotting his dillema. "And now you owe me, yes?"

His little face cleared and he gave that single sharp nod.

She fished the coin out of her pocket. She had been ready to give it to him as a gift, something that could provide a little comfort, but now it would serve another purpose. With a sharp twist, she broke the two pieces apart from one another. Goytha now held two smaller coins, an oddly shaped hole through the center of each. It was a puzzle, built with tiny, tiny hinges; one had to fit the two pieces together so they made a single, whole coin and she had spent hours as a child trying to solve it.

"Hold out your hand," she said and he gravely extended one. She placed one piece in his small palm. "Now, this is one of a kind. You keep this piece and know it means you owe me a favor, lad." She raised her eyesbrows until he nodded in understanding. "One day, I'll ask for it back and you'll have to repay that favor. It may come tomorrow or it may never come at all, but when it's returned that means your debt to me is paid."

She paused, studying his face. Such a serious for a child. It made her heart ache. Finally, she asked gently. "Are these terms acceptable, Sicarius?"

"Yes, ma'am," came the quiet reply.

She smiled. "My name is Goytha, hatchling. Just Goytha."


End file.
